breed 'em and weep

Here's a happy little stray thread from the blogospheric cloth. I found breed 'em and weep, a really funny diary of a mom and her kids, while reading Abu Aardvark, an academic expert on Arab media. Pretty unexpected. Reading this took me back a few years, Potty breaks are wasted on the young

"You have to go to the bathroom, honey." I say. We have been through this before. "You haven’t gone to the bathroom since very early this morning, and it’s already past lunchtime, and you need to go pee before your nap."

"But I don’t have to go to the bathroom," says Sophie.

"Yes. You do."

"No. I don’t." The lower lip juts out, just a bit. The heels dig in. Bring it on, Ma.

Why must it be like this? Why the resistance? When will it cease? Youth is wasted on the young. Potty breaks are wasted on the young. The bathroom is a respite, an oasis of serenity, the ultimate in Private Time. I would kiss anyone who commanded me, GO TO THE BATHROOM RIGHT NOW, AND DON’T COME OUT UNTIL SOMETHING COMES OUT. I would weep with joy, I would obediently sit on the pot, I would think about cranberry storm doors and striped sunshades for the porch and bright red woodstoves and sugar-free iced vanilla lattes while I stared at my chipped toenails and examined my arm freckles and wondered why I got the legs I did, and then I would pee, pee, pee like the wind. And I would enjoy every second, without feeling like I had to be anywhere else to rescue someone from floating face down in the dog’s water bowl. This kid has no idea how good she has it, no idea.

Wait 'til Sophie's in High School. This should be fun to follow.